


feathers like future

by Withpetals_withblood



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Bottom Stiles, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, promiscuous!Stiles, wing!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 02:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withpetals_withblood/pseuds/Withpetals_withblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the dead talk, sometimes they walk and sometimes they feel like life. Stiles finds something beautiful in the wreckage of his senior year- Derek Hale, a puzzle Stiles is driven to put together and a secret he is determined to keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feathers like future

It was dark the night that Stiles wandered into the woods, pawing relentlessly at his eyes and clenching his fists. He ignored the constant vibrations that pulsed in the front pocket of his jeans and gritted his teeth together when he felt the sting of bitter air bite at his cheek. The sun set so early in December and Stiles forgot every year just how dark the woods could get on a Tuesday evening when he should have been at home eating the left over's his father put in the oven for him. 

It was probably lasagna again anyways. Stiles huffed.

He pulled the dark brown jacket further around his mid-section and stomped through the dry leaves that coated the ground. Long, nimble fingertips felt across the bark of each tree that he passed before he finally stopped and rolled his eyes, fishing the buzzing phone out of his pocket.

Stiles heaved a sigh, "What, Lydia?"

The voice on the other end was frantic and quick, words all running together, high-pitched through the shake of something close to anger but more along the lines of panic.

"No- are you fucking- Really, Lydia? Really? No I'm not- I'm not doing this with you-"

He hung up the phone and resisted throwing it against the ground and stomping on it with the heel of his doc martins. It took a lot of control especially after his phone was only briefly quiet before it went right back to ringing only moments after he had ended the conversation.

Ended more than that.

The dry patch in his throat clenched tight around his vocal cords and he fumbled with his phone, hissing and cursing until he could finally turn it off. 

Lydia Martin and her ridiculous charm, her always perfect strawberry blonde hair, her ugly red coach bag.

Lydia Martin and her soft sighs, gentle moans and delicate smiles that tainted the old sheets on Stiles' bed. 

Lydia Martin who had been his girlfriend since Sophomore year. The Lydia he had taken to homecoming, to winter formal, lost his virginity to. The same Lydia Martin who had just caught Stiles with his lips pressed against Ethan's throat in the locker room.

They were seniors now and some things had changed. A lot had changed. 

Stiles' eyes were red and waterlogged from the tears he had refused to show to her. She had opened the door and stared at them, wide eyed, mouth slack. They hadn't exchanged any words, there was no 'why' or 'how could you', there was just Stiles with his head buried underneath the crook of another young man's chin, hands wandering beneath his shirt.

He weaved around another tree in the dark, thought absently that perhaps he should have explained, should have done the right thing. It's all it would have taken to end two years of his life right? Just to sit her down and explain that since fifth grade he had dreamed of capturing her with all the charm he lacked, all the charisma he faked and then when he finally did... it just wasn't there. 

Sheriff Stilinski had said he'd 'outgrown' her. Stiles didn't quite agree but even if that was the case, it didn't change that he was an asshole and that a part of him felt completely empty.

Lydia had chased after him when Stiles fled, when he grabbed his duffle bag and snapped at her to leave him the fuck alone like he had some entitlement to anger. Like she was the one that had been caught cheating. He didn't want to cry, he didn't want to have to explain, all he wanted was a cigarette and to get away. But she had been persistent that afternoon. Had clicked all the way out to his car, shouting and sobbing for him to turn around.

When he finally did her open palm connected with his cheek and Stiles knew he deserved it.

He had driven away and parked his car somewhere on the outskirts of the trees and hid in the woods with his Camel Filters and the guilt that he pretended to feel.

"Stupid, just fucking stupid," he mumbled to himself, kicked a branch and ran gangly fingers up through his hair as he walked. 

A part of him almost wanted to get lost just so he had an excuse not to wake up and go to school in the morning. So he had an excuse to say his phone died, that he had no idea what was going on. To put off the bitter apology he would have to muster up. To explain to his now ex-girlfriend of two years that none of it was her fault.

That he should have just been honest with himself after their third date. That he shouldn't have tried so hard to create a feeling that wasn't tangible to begin with. 

Stiles stopped to dig into his back pocket for the pack of cigarettes, sliding one between his lips and lighting it. The burn of smoke obstructing the walls of his lungs felt good. It was steady. Lift, inhale, drop, exhale. A pattern that took the edge off.

He continued his walk through the trees, turned this way, rounded that way and yelped when he tripped over a root hidden beneath the blanket of leaves that coated the ground.

It was a Tuesday night and he hadn't expected to find what he did. Hadn't expected the moonlight to drip through the naked arms of a tall oak tree and fall against the silhouette of a man standing in an opening next to the old Hale house.

Chapped lips wrapped around the end of his cigarette and Stiles took a long drag. 

Black leather jacket.

Stiles squinted.

Dark jeans.

He shifted and leaned his shoulder against a tree, eyes straining to get a better look.

Whoever the stranger was, he had broad shoulders and he was pacing. He had his hand up, smoothed it through his hair and Stiles arched a brow. The jacked hit the ground first, followed by a black long sleeved shirt and Stiles opened to mouth to say something stupid or witty, something that would have come out inappropriate and ridiculous. 

But he opted to stare instead, to try and trace the shadows that lingered on his abdomen, to imagine what his face looked like in the dark. All Stiles could see was pale flesh stretched tight over a toned physique and he squinted again in the dark as he took another drag.

Everything changed after that. The air shifted. The moon almost shook against the darkness and Stiles' breath hitched when he watched the man curl his fingers into fists and strain his arms. 

He was waiting to wake up. Waiting for Scott to shake him back to consciousness in Ms. Montgomery's Biology class. Waiting for his alarm to go off. 

Black wings shattered the air around the man when they burst from his shoulders and stretched out, trembling softly against the cold. Stiles could hear him trying to catch his breath, listened to the soft whine that echoed through the trees and flinched when he heard his knees hit the ground.

Wings... He, whoever he was, he had... 

No.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. He took another drag of his cigarette and bit down on his lip, inhale, exhale. It wasn't possible. There was no way that something like that- Nothing like that existed, it wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

But when he opened his eyes the man was still there, hunched over, folding his wings back and forth and whimpering in the darkness. 

Stiles' breath caught and he stumbled, falling backwards into the leaves. The sound was deafening against the silence and he knew he had been caught. Caught by a man who wasn't real that he had found in the woods after one of the most excruciating days of his life.

The muscle behind his rib cage was pounding, stuttering to try and catch up with the rest of him and it nearly stopped when strong arms bracketed around Stiles' face and wings- god they were beautiful, ebony, feathered wings fanned out around him. 

"I-I'm sorry, I- jesus, fuck, I don't-" Stiles couldn't control the words that spilled over his lips and he swallowed, trying to catch his breath, "I didn't- are y-you, are you okay? God, you're"

Beautiful.

That's what he had wanted to say to the stranger staring down at him.

Large green eyes flicked around his face, circled in long thick lashes. He had high cheek bones and a sharp jawline with a full mouth and he looked... scared? Startled? 

They watched each other for a moment, Stiles gripping his phone so hard that he thought it was going to shatter before a question came pouring out of his mouth, "What's your name?" His voice was more even than he had expected and he bit down on the inside of his cheek when he realized how rushed the words sounded.

A plump set of lips fell open and Stiles watched them tremble for a moment as his eyes searched the teenager beneath him like he was something so utterly foreign. Like he had never seen anything like it in his life. Astonishment. Excitement. Sorrow. Stiles couldn't put a finger on it, he couldn't figure his expression out. Couldn't even guess what the man was feeling.

"Derek," the strangers voice was gentle, softer than Stiles had ever imagined it would be, "Derek Hale."

"Derek," Stiles repeated as he moved his eyes from the man's face to the ominous appendages that sprouted from his back. It took a minute for the name to find meaning, for it to fall like an old book off a shelf in Stiles' mind, but once it did amber eyes widened and the teenager gasped, shoving himself backwards from underneath the body above him.

"That's not... you can't be, he's-" Stiles swallowed and almost fell again when he finally got to his feet and started walking backwards. 

"Derek Hale died in a fire five years ago," Stiles almost whispered the words but Derek heard them, he could tell by the way his arms drooped when he sat up and leaned back on his calves. He could tell by the way his... god, he couldn't believe he was saying this, the way his wings folded shyly back along his spine.

Stiles ran after that. He ran as fast as he could. His lungs burnt, eyes burnt, legs burnt. Everything burnt. When he finally got to his jeep he hoisted himself in and slammed his hands against the steering wheel.

It wasn't possible.

None of it.

His hands were shaking when he tried to turn his phone back on and he rolled his eyes when he saw the absurd amount of missed calls from Lydia and the few from Scott and Isaac.

neerd to talkj

The text was jumbled but Stiles didn't care, he pressed send and twisted the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and he threw the shifter in drive. His whole body was trembling, his hands, his knees, his arms. His neck twitched, breath came out short and desperate.

If anyone was going to believe him it was Scott.

\--

"Okay, wait," Scott held up a hand and sighed, "Let's start over, you made out with Ethan?"

"Oh my god, so not important right now," Stiles hissed, rolling his eyes as he fell back onto Scott's bed. 

"How is that not important, dude?" Scott was laughing and he shook his head back and forth but Stiles growled, swatting the bed impatiently.

"Derek Hale. I saw- I mean, he had fucking wings, Scott! Are you ignoring the slightly traumatizing and equally arousing situation I was just in?"

Scott shoved a cold piece of pizza in his mouth and his brows pinched together, "That's not possible, all the Hale's-"

"Died in the fire! I know! Are you even- wings, Scott! He had motherfucking wings, are we still not grasping that?"

"Wings?" Scott arched a brow and smirked, "Wings like 'tweet tweet' wings or wings like we should have ordered some with our pizza wings-"

"Oh my god!" Stiles huffed and swung his legs over the side of the bed and paced around his best friends room for the fourth time since he'd arrived.

Scott was laughing and shaking his head as he picked the bell peppers off his pizza, "So, your girlfriend called me like eight times tonight-"

"Ex-girlfriend, still not important. Derek Hale with wings out in the fucking woods, Scott. Are you not? Like is this not sinking in for you or...?"

"How can you say Lydia isn't important? You've been dating for two years, bro. That's pretty shitty," Scott's brows furrowed and he nudged his shoulder towards the pizza box, "Just sit down, eat something, and explain to me what happened today. She said she caught you kissing Ethan in the locker room and then you took off." 

Stiles pursed his lips and heaved a sigh. Scott wasn't going to listen, that was obvious. At least not until he got a full detailed story pertaining to what had gone on at school.

"I cheated. I've-" Stiles sat down cross-legged on the floor and took a slice of pizza out of the box, smothering it with ranch, "been cheating..." his voice trailed off and Scott tilted his head to the side. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott almost laughed through his words and shook his head, "I mean, it's not cool. It's not fucking cool at all and you shouldn't have done something so fucked up to Lydia but I'm your best friend and-"

"I didn't want to think about it," Stiles mumbled, trying to get the image of jungle green eyes out of his head, "Lydia... she's great, she just- I don't know, I didn't have-" he moved his hand in an exaggerated circle over his chest, "it wasn't there." 

Scott nodded.

"I- fuck, I don't know," Stiles rolled his eyes and reached over to grab the bell peppers Scott had picked off his pizza and placed them on his own, "I... I love Lydia, I do. I don't- I'm just not... in love with her."

Scott nodded again, "So... Are you and Ethan-"

"No, god no. No. He's, uh," Stiles laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head, "he's fun sometimes but so is his brother so-"

Scott choked on the cherry coke he was drinking and Stiles bit down on his lip to keep the coy grin from curling his mouth upwards.

"You've been fucking both of them?!" Scott's eyebrows lifted, eyes wide as he tried to contain himself. Stiles sighed and gave a curt nod before Scott reached out and kicked him, pushing him over with his foot.

"Dude! Not fucking cool!" Scott was laughing but he was right and Stiles knew he was right. What he had done was low and scummy and he wanted more than anything to feel like a piece of shit for it. The problem was that he didn't. It seemed like he had let things go for so long with Lydia that being caught was a blessing and that alone made his stomach turn.

Stiles shook his head and nodded, "I know, man... I know- I'm a dick."

"You are," Scott grumbled, tossing his phone into Stiles' lap, "look."

The screen was full of texts from Lydia. He skimmed over them briefly but his thoughts were elsewhere. Far off in the woods next to the skeleton of a house that everyone steered clear of. Haunting, wild eyes that stared at him so feverishly. Black wings.  


He closed his eyes and Scott reached over to clasp his hand on Stiles shoulder.

"You're a slut but I still love you and everything will be fine in a few weeks. It'll blow over," Scott's voice was reassuring and Stiles nodded, playing along with the idea that he had closed his eyes because of Lydia.

And not because of the ghost he had seen in the woods.

\--

Lydia screamed at Stiles behind the school bus in the back lot the next day.

Her eyes were narrowed, teeth clanking when she spoke, hair bouncing as she bobbed her head with each insult she thrust at him. He let her. He took it all and stared at the ground with his hands in his pockets until she had demanded that he look at her.  


"Why didn't you just tell me?" It was the first time her voice cracked and Stiles felt his heart retreat back against his spine. Nerves fluttered through his stomach and he bit down on his lip.

Hazel eyes blinked at him through a glossy shield and he sighed softly, "I couldn't." It was all he had, all he could give and it wasn't enough, he knew that. He knew that nothing would ever be enough, not a letter written in blood, not a sobbing storm of begging at her feet. Nothing. 

Something metal clattered against the ground and Stiles stared at his feet as she turned and walked away. There was nothing after that. No phone calls. No texts. No screaming.

Stiles bent down and picked up the necklace; the pretty amethyst pendant he bought for her last Valentine’s Day.

He threw it in the trash on the way to his jeep.

\--

Aiden and Ethan were completely different lovers. 

Ethan liked it slow and tender.

Aiden liked it fast and brutal.

Stiles called Aiden when he got home.

\--

"Where are you?" Aiden breathed against Stiles' ear and leaned down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss.

Stiles didn't know where he was. Shit like this always worked in the movies, people broke up and then they fucked their pain away. That was how it went, right?

He arched his back and nodded against the sturdy shoulder above him, "I'm here, I'm just-"

"Just what? You wanna stop?"

Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip and Aiden pulled back to look at him, eyes rolling in their sockets, "If you don't want to do this you can call me tomorrow. I understand, break ups suck." He reached down to wrap his hand around the half-hard cock between Stiles' legs and listened to the boy gasp.

Aiden was good at what he did. That was a fact.

They didn't stop and Stiles didn't feel bad about it.

The movies were right, that shit did work.

\--

Stiles had a dream about Derek. 

It was filled with the sound of ruffling feathers. The smell of damp leaves and wood rot. The image of pale skin and emerald eyes.

He woke up covered in sweat and unable to catch his breath.

\--

Stiles didn't go to school Thursday morning.

He drove down the barely manageable trail that led to the Hale house and went over every scenario that he could think of in his head. There was no 'b' to follow 'a', no 'x' to the 'y' in this situation. Derek Hale was dead. He died when he was twenty-two in a freak accident the day after Thanksgiving five years ago. There was no logical way that the man he had met was him.

There was no logical way that a man with wings pounced on him in the woods either, but here he was, driving out into the middle of nowhere to find an imaginary angel.

Stiles sucked in a deep breath when he turned off his car and wrapped a scarf tightly around his neck before he pulled on a pair of fingerless black gloves. 

He wasn't going to find anything, he had told himself that over and over again. 

"Okay," Stiles breathed when he took a hesitant step onto the porch and glanced around. It was overcast and mist hung close to the ground, causing the old wood to expel the scent of soot and ash that wrecked it so tragically years ago. His hand shook when he pressed it against the door and Stiles jumped when it creaked and slid open.

A broken stair case and two hallways, one to the left and one to the right. The stairs looked like they were about to collapse so he turned left and peeked around a corner, chills running down his spine and pricking dangerously against his arms with every shaky step. 

Fight or flight. Get out or hide.

The feeling hit him like a train and he tried to control his breathing, tried to calm himself down but he could feel it. He could feel eyes on him and as excited as he thought he would be, he wasn't. 

He was terrified.

"D-derek?" his voice came out weak and feeble but he heard the floorboards crack and whipped around, falling back against the wall when he saw the man standing a few feet away from him.

Feral eyes trailed from Stiles' shoes to the bridge of his nose and back again, lips pursed into a thin line, "Who are you?" Derek didn't sound scared this time. He didn't look vulnerable or startled and Stiles craned his neck to look for the wings he so clearly remembered but there was nothing.

"Stiles," he cleared his throat and nodded, "I'm Stiles."

"Why are you here, Stiles?" Derek tilted his head to the side and took a step forward causing an earthquake to rock against Stiles' vertebrae. 

"I, uh-" he tried not to laugh but he was nervous and it happened anyway, "I kind of saw your giant fucking wings and well, not really something a high school senior gets to see everyday so-"

His mouth slammed shut when Derek took another step forward and rolled his eyes, "I remember what you saw," he mumbled, "but that doesn't answer my question. Why are you here?" his eyes softened through the last couple words and Stiles almost felt like he was being serious, like he had to ask why Stiles would come in search of him.

Who wouldn't go looking for him? A beautiful young man who was allegedly dead suddenly found in the woods, oh and not to mention, the wings. The giant wings. The wings that Stiles could no longer see.

"I-" Stiles jerked his head back and huffed a laugh, "I came to find you."

Derek blinked once. Twice. He stepped back and looked Stiles up and down, "Why?"

"Because I saw you. I saw you and your..." he swallowed and turned to nod his chin towards Derek's back, "and well, that's not something I'm just gonna forget about so here I am."

The man was obviously guarded but a hint of confusion masked his eyes and he nodded, "I..." his voice trailed off and Stiles watched him shove his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and stare at the ground, "I think I'm lost."  
Stiles felt his hands start to shake. 

"I don't-" Derek bit down on his lip, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do here. It was dark and I was choking when I woke up, all I remember is the flames," he looked away and Stiles wanted to take a step, to move closer but he didn't. He kept his feet planted firmly against the moldy floor boards and just watched, listened.

Derek looked to Stiles before he glanced out the front door, "I remember dying. I remember it- I don't... I don't know how I got here."

There was no possible way. No way. Not a chance in hell that this was real. 

So Stiles did the only thing he could think of to either disprove or prove that Derek Hale, the promising young man who burned to death five years ago, was standing in front of him. 

He reached out and placed his hand on his chest. 

Derek didn't move, he just arched a brow and watched Stiles gasp and tear his fingertips away, clutching his limb back against his torso. His pupils expanded to disrupt the light reflecting off the honeycomb color of his iris and Stiles trembled when he tried to breathe.

This was real. Fucking shit- Derek Hale was real.

"That's- you're... You had wings, where? Where did-"

"I can hide them," a blush settled across the top of Derek's cheeks and he looked shyly to his shoes, "I can bring them out but it hurts most of the time."

That explains how vulnerable he seemed the other night. 

"Where the fuck do you hide gigantic wings, Derek?" Stiles' brows pulled together.

"I don't really know, I don't even know where they came, but if I will them to come they'll come and why the fuck-" 

Derek started pacing, running his hand up through his hair. It was the first time Stiles had seen him do anything relatively human or rather, say anything relatively human.

"Am I trusting you with this information? Who even are you?"

Stiles swayed slightly and bit at his nails, "I'm the Sheriff's son. I, uh, I'm seventeen, I play lacrosse... I just-" he sighed and winced when he bit too far down on his pinky finger, "I just broke up with my girlfriend and found an angel in the woods that no one knows about..." He shrugged and licked over his lips, "Is that what you are- an angel?"

Derek stared at him for a moment, eyes dissecting the freckles littered across the bridge of his nose, taking in the bow of his top lip and the short uneven breaths that were being pushed out of his lungs. 

"I don't know what I am," he replied through gritted teeth, "All I know is that I'm here and I'm not supposed to be."

Stiles tilted his head to the side, "Well, you wouldn't be here if you weren't supposed to be."

Even if that did go against every natural order Stiles had ever heard of, it had to be the truth. He didn't believe in much, not in god or any book but he did believe that if something was palpable, if something was here... it had to have a purpose. 

The wind picked up and Stiles pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, eyes darting to Derek's hands as he nervously rubbed his thumbs against the inside of his fingertips. It didn't make sense. Not a damn thing but Stiles couldn't help the curiosity buzzing around behind his eyes, couldn't control how enamored he was with the man standing before him.

Derek huffed a sigh instead of responding and Stiles cleared his throat.

"So..." Stiles tested, taking a hesitant step forward, "where do you sleep? I mean- do you sleep?"

"Yes, I sleep," Derek snapped and the teenager flinched, showing his palms in mock surrender before the man hummed softly, "I sleep here..." his voice trailed off and he turned his gaze back towards the ground.

Amber eyes narrowed dangerously, "You sleep- wait, what? You can't... You aren't serious, I mean when did you-"

"I don't need your pity," Derek bit, "Just go."

"I'm not... I don't pity you, I just," Stiles flicked his brows and ran his hand through the hair on the back of his head, "You can't keep sleeping out here. How long-"

"I woke up in the woods a week ago, why-" Derek rolled his eyes and Stiles took a quick step back when he watched the man's hands ball into fists, "Why are you still here? Go. You need to go." 

"I'm not-"

"Stiles!" 

Derek barked his name and Stiles withdrew, eyes pointed at the floor.

He didn't move for a long time. Didn't breathe. He just stood there and wondered why he had to be the one to open Pandora's box. Why he had to be the one to find whatever-the-fuck-Derek-was.

"I'm going to get you something to eat and you're not going to yell at me again," Stiles' voice was quiet and he glanced up to catch Derek looking just as confused and vulnerable as he was the other night. "I don't have a plan yet," Stiles held up his index finger, "but I'm going to figure something out. You can come with me if you want- I bet a shower sounds nice?"

It was quiet for another minute, the wind playing games with the wiry branches of the trees outside the house.

Derek didn't say anything, just nodded and watched Stiles carefully, almost asking permission to follow.

A man like that was far too intimidating to sport such a timid expression.

"Come on," Stiles turned past the door that was almost completely broken off its hinges, "My house isn't far."

Derek followed and Stiles bit down on his lip when he slid into the passenger’s seat.

He didn't know what the fuck he was doing but there was no going back now.

\--

"I hope you like grilled cheese," Stiles set a plate down in front of Derek who was sitting on the edge of his bed with his arms folded across his chest. 

"I do," Derek mumbled, shoving the toasted sandwich in his mouth.

Stiles almost laughed until he realized how hungry Derek was. How pale he was. How completely human he was. 

"Here, I brought you- oh... kay, yeah, that's water," Stiles arched a brow when the man drank the entire glass without taking a breath.

He waited and tried not to watch as Derek hardly chewed the food put in front of him; the guy inhaled it. 

"Thank you," Derek's voice was meek.

"When... When's the last time you ate?" Stiles tilted his head to the side and smirked when Derek wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I took a banana and a few bottles of water from someone’s house after I woke up. I had," he paused and closed his eyes, "broken into their garage and found some clothes in their dryer, they had a fridge out there too so... I didn't know what else to do."

It hurt. It hurt worse than Stiles had thought it would. It wasn't that he cared for Derek- he was a fucking ghost angel thing for Christ's sake but... no one should go hungry. Being cold? Whatever. Alone? Shit happens. But hungry? That was different. 

"I'm sure they aren't gonna miss the banana, Derek," Stiles sighed and shook his head, "Are those clothes okay?" 

Derek nodded and rubbed bashfully against his forearms, "Your dad won't notice?" He was so shy it was rather painful for Stiles to listen to him.

"No, Derek, my dad will not notice. Now-" he sat down in the chair in front of his computer, "you're clean, you're fed, you're clothed, so how about we try to figure out what the fuck," Stiles waved a hand in front of the man on his bed, "you are."

A heaved breath was all that he received as a response and when Stiles turned around a few minutes later to ask a question he was greeted with the sight of the stranger now curled into his pillows, asleep on his bed.

"Alright, Casper. Make yourself at home," Stiles hissed under his breath and rolled his eyes.

But he couldn't look away and it killed him.

And he couldn't wake him up because god, the guy hadn't slept in a bed in a week and before that... Stiles swallowed down a shaky breath, before that he had been dead.

\--

Derek refused to stay the night even though Stiles insisted.

Scott didn't believe him when he went to school the next day.

He saw Lydia in second period. She had a hickey on her neck.

Stiles punched a wall so hard it split his knuckles.

So he fucked Ethan during lunch and Aiden after lacrosse practice. 

\--

"What happened to your hand?" Derek frowned when Stiles pulled up to the Hale house Saturday and tossed him a bag from Jack in the Box. 

"I punched a wall," Stiles admitted through a half-hearted shrug.

"Why?" Derek arched a brow and bit into the crispy chicken sandwich Stiles had bought for him.

The teenager wanted to make up some elaborate story, to cover his own ass, but it seemed ridiculous to lie to someone like Derek.

"My ex-girlfriend's been fucking around, I guess."

"Didn't you break up with her?" Mossy green eyes blinked his direction.

Stiles shoved a handful of curly fries into his mouth, "Yep."

"Why?"

"I was cheating on her," Stiles looked at the ground. 

"And you're mad that she's seeing someone else?" Derek laughed through the last few words and Stiles laughed right along with him.

"Life of the hypocrite, huh? I get to fuck whoever I want but she doesn't get to fuck anyone. Strange how feelings decide to just-" Stiles grinned sarcastically, "magically emerge out of fucking nowhere when you realize that someone else has their mouth on what was yours."

"Sounds to me like you need to grow up," Derek's voice was low and he glanced to Stiles who bit down on his bottom lip.

"You're right," Stiles admitted, "I probably do."

\--

Stiles went back two days later.

Then three days after that.

He brought Derek blankets even though he claimed he didn't need them.

He brought him food, gave him a case of water.

It was two weeks later, four days before Christmas when Stiles mustered up the courage to ask to see his wings again.

\--

"Please," Stiles whined, "C'mon, let me see!"

"It hurts," Derek growled, "It's not pleasant to bring them out, leave me alone."

"Maybe you need to bring them out more, maybe that's the issue, c'mon!" Stiles poked Derek in the ribs and the man retaliated by swatting him in the chest.

"Stop it," Derek grumbled.

"You won't stay at my place, you won't let me buy you clothes, you won't talk to my dad about collecting the insurance from the fire, at least show me why! I've only seen them once and we're actually like friends now, I want-"

"We're friends?" Derek turned, head tilting to the side. It wasn't a sarcastic remark, just strange, vaguely conflicted, like he hadn't realized that perhaps Stiles had actually weaseled his way into a friendship with him.

Stiles nodded and Derek hesitated but after a moment Stiles felt his mouth go dry as Derek shrugged off his jacket.  
"It's cold," he whimpered at Stiles who hardly noticed. He was far too busy staring at the definition of Derek's hips. 

"Let's see it," Stiles sat cross-legged on the porch and Derek's eyes turned towards the sky in an exaggerated roll as he stood up and took in a few deep breaths.

Stiles was nervous. Nervous and excited and to be perfectly honest- scared. He was fucking terrified. Because Derek Hale had sat down and watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy with him last Friday night, had drank hot chocolate with him and made fun of him for smothering peanut butter on his oreos. Because Derek Hale had come to learn all of Stiles' secrets, learned to understand his guilt, his heart break and he didn't judge him when he drudged on and on about his life. 

Because Derek Hale was more than just a ghost or an angel or hell, a fucking valkeryie. 

Derek Hale was his secret- and he was about to be reminded why.

The muscles in Derek's stomach clenched, the veins traveling down his forearms bubbled up from under his skin and Stiles could almost hear his teeth grind together. 

A gust of air, a choked sob and knees once again hitting the floor. It was all so familiar, reaching towards the memory that seemed distant these days. 

Stiles had forgotten how beautiful they were.

"H-hey, Derek, hey," Stiles was on his feet and stumbling to fall to his own knees in front of him, hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder, "are you...?"

A tender whine was all he got in response and the large ebony appendages twitched and trembled in the late December air. Derek tried to stretch them but Stiles saw him flinch, teeth set hard into his bottom lip, "They're stiff," his voice was raspy and Stiles swallowed, letting his fingertips fall from Derek's shoulder to press against the base of his right wing.

He gave a rushed apology when the man winced but Derek shook his head, "It's fine, just-" he sucked in a breath, "be gentle."

Stiles leaned forward and moved his arms around Derek's neck, fingertips dusting across the strong structure of both wings. They weren't light, he could tell that much. "Is this," Stiles' voice shook as his fingertips dragged across the feathers towards the peak of each limb, "is this okay?"

He almost fell backwards when Derek leaned his forehead down against his shoulder. Hot breath ghosted against Stiles' throat, "Y-yeah," Derek's voice wasn't any more even than his own.

They were soft. Soft and warm and so strange. Alien. Inhuman. Mortifyingly, tantalizingly exquisite in every single way. It startled him when they moved at first, when Derek would shift and they would twitch or flex beneath his touch but after a few minutes he found the courage to press harder, to stroke and knead at them.

Derek's breathing was distracting, his mouth so close to Stiles' throat and- fuck. His hands brushed across his hip urging Stiles to press forward and- god, no. They couldn't, he wouldn't do this, not with-

"Stiles," his voice was an absolute mess and Stiles felt his spine turn to liquid when a rough stubbled cheek rubbed against his neck. Derek's fingertips gripped his waist and Stiles couldn't talk. He couldn't say a damn word.

The dark wings stretched out further, quivering and twitching until they beat once, then twice. He gasped and he was sure he would have fallen backwards if Derek wasn't holding him in place, "Is this-" Derek's mouth- oh fucking, hell, Derek's mouth. He dragged his lips against the dip in Stiles' throat, up to his jaw and across his chin, "Can I?"

Stiles' eyes were half-lidded when Derek finally made his way to the teenagers mouth which was parted, desperately trying to find oxygen. His hands were no longer transfixed on the silky feathers protruding from the fleshy wings folding against Derek's back, but rested nervously on the man's shoulders. He didn't know where to put them. He didn't know what to do or what to say. Did he say anything? Did he run or did he pass out or- fuck, Derek's mouth.

"I-" he tried to tie together a sentence but nothing came out, nothing was working. His heart was just sputtering, stopping and starting again and again. His lungs couldn't make up their mind, either inhale or exhale but fuck, he couldn't do both at once. "I- yeah, yes. I don't, Derek, I-"

And just like that Stiles felt his stomach leap into his throat.

Derek wasn't an angel, that was for sure, because there was no way an angel could kiss like that. It was a firm press, a hot, rich grind as he closed the inch or so gap between them and collided against Stiles' lips with his own. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He wanted so badly to hear screeching brakes. To hear alarms go off between his ears. But there was nothing, nothing except the sound of his own heartbeat and the flutter of insects crawling and flying around in his stomach. 

He was alive. Derek had to be alive because if this was what kissing a corpse was like then Stiles needed to visit the cemetery more often. Strong, surprisingly soft lips pulled and pried, head tilting one way as his tongue traced the swollen puff of Stiles' bottom lip and there was no hesitation, none at all. Stiles' hands slid to splay across the sides of his throat, thumbs stroking through the coarse stubble on his jaw.

Derek pushed. He pushed with his hands, feeling down the expanse of Stiles' back through the thick jacket the boy was wearing, ghosted them down to grip high up on his thighs and drag his legs apart. Stiles' knees shook and he gasped, eyelids fluttering open momentarily when he felt himself fall and his back hit the dead leaves that littered the ground. Derek kept pushing. He pushed with his tongue, deliberate, hard pulses against Stiles' own, rubbing and memorizing the expanse of his mouth like it was a map written in morse code. 

"Cold, cold, cold," Stiles didn't realize he was whining until Derek huffed a warm laugh against his cheek and continued to slide his hands underneath the layers of clothing that covered Stiles' stomach.  
He couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't stop vibrating. He couldn't fathom how real this was. How real Derek was.

Stiles tilted his head and found his lips once again, took them greedily in his own and hummed shakily into the kiss when Derek's hands roamed over his ribcage. 

The passing thought that this could be a hallucination was fleeting and faded as soon as Derek broke the kiss and buried his face in the hollow of Stiles' throat. His teeth grazed the flesh that met between his neck and shoulder as Stiles reached up and moved his fingers across the opaque black feathers that shuddered in the cold. 

"What are you..." the words were gentle and slipped from Stiles' mouth on accident.

Derek sighed, "I don't know," he wrapped his arm underneath the body beneath him and hauled him up when he sat back on his knees.

A small 'oof' left him and Stiles' legs draped over his lap, "Why did you-" his voice cut out and he stared at Derek, tried to categorize every fleck of green and yellow that made up the color around his pupils, "why did you do that?"

Derek set his forehead against Stiles' and his wings fluttered loudly, "I don't know." 

\--

Stiles paced around his room alone in the dark that night.

He paced and he pulled out his own god damn hair and he almost went back.

Almost got in his car and drove back into the woods.

Almost.

Because- fuck, he couldn't. He wouldn't.

It had to stop.

They had to stop.

It couldn't continue because- Derek was, he was-

Stiles hissed when he tripped over a pair of vans tossed lazily next to his bed.

No.

That was it. 

First and last time.

Yep. No more.

He had self-control. He was capable of just being friends.

"He's dead!" Stiles yelled at his reflection in the mirror and inhaled a shaky breath, nodding again and again as he reassured himself.

Self-control.

\--  


"Merry Christmas," Stiles whispered, choking on a broken off moan.

Derek grinded his hips down between Stiles' legs and felt the small bed creak beneath them.

Well.

So much for that.

\--

"Dude, tell those boys to calm down," Scott poked roughly at a blotched mark on Stiles' throat. 

Oops. 

The clock on the wall ticked all too loudly in his best friend’s house and Stiles picked lazily at a chip on the edge of the coffee table.

"So, is Lydia like..." Stiles paused, "Is she doing okay?"

Scott nodded and heaved a sigh, "She'd get back together with you in an instant."

Stiles didn't want that. He didn't want anything like that.

"No, man, I just," he shook his head and took a sip off the bottled cream soda in his hands, "I want to make sure she's okay, that's all."

Scott nodded and Stiles looked at the clock again.

\--

"Icarus," Stiles whispered to himself as he scrolled absently through page after page on the internet.

"Fallen angels," he sighed and rolled his eyes, "Pegasus... Lucifer, demons... none of this is-" he grumbled and smoothed his hand across his forehead.

Nothing.

Nothing made sense.

\--

Ethan slid his hand across Stiles' lower back in the locker room after practice, "You haven't called in a while."

Stiles nodded. 

I've been fucking a dead guy.

"Sorry, I've been busy." He was really getting far too comfortable with lying.

"You weren't busy a month ago," Ethan was jaded.

"Well, it's not last month, is it?"

Stiles walked away and convinced himself that he stopped calling the brothers because the sex was better with Derek.

Not because it made him feel something.

\--

Stiles writhed underneath him, bucked and gasped and pleaded against his ear, "Don't- fuck, Derek, don't stop," his voice was breathy and hot against the man's neck as he wound his fingertips up into Derek's hair and pulled roughly.

A throaty groan vibrated against his cheek and Derek pushed down, thrusting into the body beneath him again and again. 

Sometimes Derek would hold his wrists down, bite down on his throat and leave deep marks behind that Stiles wasn't even close to being ashamed of. But tonight was different. Tonight he tangled their fingers together and held Stiles' hands above his head, stole deep, long kisses between shaky breaths and desperate sighs.

Derek said his name and Stiles swore he'd never heard anything like it before.

His heart jumped against his rib cage and he closed his eyes.

"Touch me, please," Stiles didn't even know he was talking until one of his hands was freed and Derek smoothed his palm against the velvety flesh of his achingly hard cock. It didn't take long after that, not with Derek pumping his fist around him and grinding himself harder and deeper between his legs. 

Stiles came sputtering inaudible words, a few curses, Derek's name, probably something else, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was shaking and his back was arching and he couldn't feel anything except Derek pounding into him and sending ripples and shocks pulsing to the tips of his fingers. It was too much but he didn't say that, he just shook and tried to breathe and blushed when he heard the noises coming out of his own mouth.

He felt his legs lift and he was pushed forward, thighs clumsily sliding against Derek's hips until the man finally gasped against Stiles' mouth and tried to catch his breath, twitching and rutting to a stop. 

Derek was heavy but Stiles didn't mind.

He didn't mind when he was draped over him, trying to breathe and trying to talk. Trying to say things that Stiles didn't want to hear. Things that Stiles didn't want to be affected by.

"I'm glad you," he inhaled sharply and turned to breathe against Stiles' ear, "I'm glad you found me."

Nimble fingertips ran across the expanse of Derek's back, drawing circles over the two knotted areas where his wings manifested.

Stiles closed his eyes.

\--

"Holy-"

Something loud crashed against the mirror and Stiles' eyes flung open. 

Scott tried to catch himself but he was too busy staring at the man with his arm wrapped around Stiles' waist.

"That is not Aiden. And that is not Ethan. That is-" Scott was stumbling over his words and Stiles almost elbowed Derek in the face trying to get up.

"Don't freak out!" Stiles held his hands out and arched a brow.

Scott shook his head, "Okay, yeah, not freaking out, but is that-"

"I tried to tell you," Stiles was much more calm than he expected himself to be and he looked over his shoulder when he heard Derek sit up.

He pawed at his eyes and Stiles nudged his shoulder towards the sleepy man in his bed.

It was the first night Derek had ever just stayed and of course Scott had to ruin it.

Fucking A.

"That's... Stiles! That's Derek Hale-"

"No shit, Scott! I told you!"

"You told him?" Derek mumbled tiredly and glanced to Scott, waving absently, "Hello."

"H-hi, uhm, you're dead," Scott pointed an index finger before he finally stabalized himself against the wall.

Stiles rolled his eyes and Derek shrugged. At this point it was a joke. A joke that hurt, but a joke.

"You're... Stiles, you can't be serious. You're sleeping with the fucking guy you found in the woods?" Scott shook his head, mouth agape.

Stiles nodded and tried to come up with something witty to shoot back but there was nothing. Not a damn thing.

"Wings!" Scott jumped, "You said he had-"

Derek frowned, a blush pulling across the tops of his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

"Okay, yes, yes, he has wings but they aren't there all the time and you can't- Scott, you can't tell anyone, you have to-"

"I'm not going to tell anyone but..." he paused and stared at Derek who almost hid behind Stiles, timid and caught like an endangered animal.

Stiles sighed and sat back down on the bed, letting a hand move back to bump reassuringly against Derek's knuckles.

"He... Where? How?" Scott stumbled to sit down in the chair in front of the computer and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Can you like, can we get, uh-" Stiles glanced down and then looked back to Scott who tilted his head to the side, "Naked. We're naked, Scott. Can you just-"

"Oh, uh, wow. Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll be downstairs. Your dad's at work so-"

"Yep. Yep he is. Thanks buddy, thank you, now please get out."

Stiles turned to face Derek when Scott finally left the room and saw the confusion riddled in his eyes. He looked scared.

"He's not going to tell anyone, he's my best friend," Stiles assured.

Derek nodded, "He-" his voice gave out and he sighed, shaking his head.

"He what?" Stiles pressed.

"He doesn't think you should be sleeping with me?" Derek frowned bashfully.

Wow.

Stiles controlled the bark of laughter that wanted to come rushing out of his mouth and settled for a small chuckle instead, eyes squeezing shut, "Scott doesn't think I should be sleeping with half the people I've been sleeping with."

He got up after that, walked over towards the connected bathroom to brush his teeth but Derek's voice stopped him.

"You're still... You're still sleeping with them?" 

Stiles stopped and bit down on his lip.

He wanted to say yes. To lie and take the importance, the reverence away from the man laying in his bed. He wanted to destroy the intimacy.

"No," Stiles looked over his shoulder, "No, I haven't- not since Christmas." 

It was February and Stiles didn't know what he was feeling.

\--

Scott looked at Derek like he was a fucking exhibit at a museum. Like he was constructed out of dinosaur bones, or an old painting, or hell, maybe something that was supposedly dead. Who knows. But big brown eyes blinked across the coffee table at Derek whose gaze shied away, down past the steaming cup of coffee in his hands to his bare feet that shifted uncomfortably against the floor boards.

"So," Stiles piped, like nothing was wrong, because if he acted cool maybe everything would be cool.

Or everything would go to shit.

"So," Scott mirrored, peeling his eyes away from Derek to settle on Stiles, "he has wings."

"Yes, he has wings."

"And he's... dead," Scott added, lip pulling down into something of a flinch.

Derek rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. 

Stiles' eyes fell closed in a slow, somber movement as he heaved a deep sigh, "Obviously not."

"According to the rest of the town he is, Stiles," Scott's voice was hushed and he looked away, a soft blush falling across his cheeks.

Stiles felt like someone was scrolling through the history on his computer. Like he had eyes skimming over the pages in his diary, peeking into the shoe box he kept his secrets stashed away in under his bed. Derek was his. His secret. 

He didn't want it to feel the way it did because this was Scott- this was his best friend.

But every single time Scott's big doe eyes traced over the angles of Derek's face it felt like someone was prodding Stiles in his Achilles heel with a hot poker.

"Please," Derek didn't sound weak when he opened his mouth and flicked his eyes up to Scott, the high school senior who had been dating the same girl since sophomore year, the captain of the lacrosse team, the 'no thank you' to any recreational drug guy at the party following homecoming, the good guy, "don't say anything to anyone." 

He just sounded like someone who was desperate to stay a secret.  
And Stiles was desperate to keep him one.

It took Scott a moment to swallow, his adams apple bobbing slightly as he did, and nod his head, "I promise. Nothing-"

"Not even Allison," Stiles breathed.

Scott nodded again, "I promise."

Stiles walked Scott out to his car and heard the apprehension in the breath that his friend took before he fumbled with his keys and chewed on his lip. 

"Stiles..." his name was a warning on Scott's tongue, "you can't... this- this can't," he paused when Stiles opened his mouth and waved his hands like he always did when he was in a situation that didn't allow for words to be enough.

"I'm fine!" Stiles hissed, "and I'm gonna figure this shit out, just- please, don't-"

"I won't! Jesus... Just..." Scott opened the door to his car and shook his head, "be careful."

Stiles didn't know what careful was anymore.

When he went inside Derek's cup of coffee was cold, his shoes were gone and Stiles' bed was made. 

A breeze picked up through the window and Stiles didn't want to feel the disappointment suddenly spiking through his joints.

\--

The next day he skipped fourth period and went to the library, typed things like 'angel' into google search again and felt the same disdain he did for the ridiculous answers when he made his first attempt all those weeks ago.

Nothing. There was nothing.

"Horus," Stiles breathed, head shaking back and forth, "Hermes," he sighed.

There was nothing. There never was anything- not a damn thing. Derek was just here, he was here and he was real but-

Stiles' eyes stopped. 

They drifted across the same word, once, twice, a third time.

He tilted his head to the side, a breath caught swollen in his throat.

\--

"Derek!" 

Stiles skidded through the empty house, threw himself around corners and tried to even out his breathing as he searched from one room into the next. 

"Where the fuck," Stiles grinded out between his teeth before he felt a hand press firmly against his lower back.

"Der," he turned, trying to catch his breath when the man retracted his hand and stared down at the ground. 

He looked guilty. Mortified. Like he'd done something worthy of serious punishment and Stiles took a step back, head cocked curiously to the side, "What's a matter?" 

Derek fiddled with his thumbs, huffed and rocked back and forth on his heels.

"I left," he blurted angrily.

Oh.

Stiles chewed idly on his bottom lip as he nodded, "Yeah, yeah ya did... That was, uh, that was a little confusing but-"

"I shouldn't have," Derek went on, "I should have stayed and I'm sorry."

Why the fuck did he say confusing. 

He sighed and copper eyes rolled, "It's fine, Derek, just listen-"

It was warm, like sunlight pouring through his window on a spring morning, and Stiles melted into the kiss that Derek granted him with ease. It swallowed up his words and stifled the conclusion that he had come to on his way over, snuffed it out like weak ashes in an overused fire pit.

Stiles stumbled when the man pressed him into the rotted wood of the old house and he inhaled a shaky breath when Derek's hands found purchase on the back of his thighs, tugged and pulled and fuck, Derek Hale, fuck him and his hands and his mouth and his words and his eyes.

"Wait," Stiles tried to squirm but Derek just hummed against his throat, "I- Derek," he panted, felt a strong torso mold against him, "you... Daimon. You're a daimon."

It was sudden. 

Like gravity gasped and the ground beneath them trembled but Derek didn't move. Every single muscle in his body just clenched and his eyes flew open, knuckles white as he gripped the flesh right below Stiles' ass and exhaled a shaky breath against the young man's shoulder.

There was a moment where Stiles regretted saying anything, a moment where he desperately wanted to collect the words and lock them back down deep inside himself because Derek wasn't moving and Derek wasn't breathing.

The back of his head thumped against the wall and Stiles leaned back, slid himself out of Derek's hands, "I think you're a daimon."

"What," Derek bit, teeth grinding together, "what is that?"

Stiles explained as best he could, went over everything he found, tried to put the pieces together.

"They're supposed to be born out of the in-between, mortality and death," Stiles tried not to talk too fast, "they can either seek a fate for themselves or show another to their fate like a, uh, like a guardian," he offered with a shrug.

"I wasn't born, Stiles, I died-"

"Yeah!" Stiles grinned, "And then the afterlife basically regurgitated you."

He didn't know when Derek's jacket hit the floor or how fast his shirt followed but Stiles cursed under his breath when he was crowded back up against the wall by trembling limbs and shaking wings. 

"H-how," Derek choked, wincing when his wings jutted forward and caged around them, "did I get these then?"

Stiles felt his lungs tighten, felt his chest constrict and he almost couldn't shake his head.

"I don't know."

Derek's jaw clenched, his hands reached out to clamp down on Stiles' hips and he sucked in a sharp breath when the side of large soft wings brushed against his arms.

There was something about reaching out and touching them, running the tips of his fingers down the short black feathers the covered the soft flesh and bone that seemed to make up the hollow wings jutting out of Derek's back.  
So Stiles took the opportunity and seized it.

He pressed harder than he ever had, felt across the knobby ridges under the plumage all the way to the base of broken skin where they protruded from his spine. Derek was trying not to whine, leaned forward and let his cheek rest on Stiles' shoulder as the teenager touched him. Examined him. Memorized him.

"You're beautiful," the words came stumbling out like a car crash and Stiles bit down on his tongue to keep it from stirring as he coaxed Derek to shift his left wing one way and then the other.

Derek mumbled something against the hollow of Stiles' throat that he didn't understand but found himself more entranced by the wide stretch of long gorgeous wings as Derek seemed to try and experiment. His grip of Stiles' waist intensified and he grunted softly when his wings shook and trembled from the long reach backwards.

They were huge.

Giant.

Amazing.

Inhuman.

They twitched every so often and Stiles jumped when they surged forward once, caging him back against the wall like a curtain. 

Teeth. Blunt teeth sank into Stiles' throat and his eyelashes fluttered.

"Right now?" when he heard his own voice Stiles wanted to punch himself, all breathy and winded like Derek had stolen the air from him.

He probably had and it made Stiles want to rip himself away.

Made him want to run to his car and deny the ability to feel a damn thing.

Instead he had hot breath invading his space, the pout of Derek's mouth sealing over his lips and hands fumbling with the belt around his waist. 

Stiles ended up swatting his hands away to un-clasp the belt himself and kicked the jeans to the ground as Derek did the same, calloused fingertips wrapping back around Stiles' thighs when he stepped out of his pants. 

There was no denying the fact that Derek had no idea what the fuck to do with his wings. 

They twitched, stirred in the cold air.

"Fuck," Stiles hissed when Derek slotted himself between his legs and pressed down, grinded the bare skin of his cock against Stiles', "let me blow you, please, god, just-"

It was like wrestling himself out of a bear trap and Derek blushed heavily when Stiles finally dropped to his knees.

The gasp that Derek let out made Stiles hum around the head of his cock, hands running up the back of his legs. There wasn't any pause or slow, rhythmic motions to keep Derek just hindering on the edge. No, Stiles just went straight to the point with messy and wet. 

His lips were swollen, wrapped around Derek's cock as he mouthed softly at the sensitive flesh, tongue working against his slit in long purposeful strokes. 

Derek cursed, legs trembled and he threaded his fingers in Stiles' hair, tugged and pulled, angled him this way or that, watched as the young man’s eyes started to water when he pushed forward and pressed himself flush against the tip of Stiles' nose. 

Fuck.

Stiles only looked up once, a moan vibrating its way around Derek's cock when he saw the man’s lips parted, heaving in breath after breath.

Derek inhaled again, lips shaking when he tried to get something of a sentence out before he was coming in Stiles' mouth without warning, which, as much as Stiles loved Derek's dick, wasn't too pleasant. 

"I'm sorry, fuck, I-" 

Stiles waved a hand up at Derek as he coughed, dismissing his apology, "It's fine, shut up," the boy hissed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as Derek hauled him up by his forearm.

The black feathered wings were folded against his back, shuddered and flicked outwards when Derek seized Stiles' attempt at catching his breath for himself and crushed their lips together.

It was brief- Derek stroked his tongue against the roof of Stiles' mouth and reached down, digging his nails teasingly into the soft meat of his abdomen.

This wasn't how he wanted it to go. 

This wasn't how he wanted it to be.

That was a lie. This was literally exactly how he wanted it to be- but, fuck.

Stiles rolled his hips into Derek's waist and cursed when he felt himself being flipped around- endured the sting of cold wood against his chest. 

"What the fuck, Derek, what the-" he didn't mean to gasp or choke or make whatever noise he made, but it was impossible to keep himself steady or to keep himself at bay with rough stubble against his ass and Derek's tongue dragging hot and soft against the tight muscle settled between his cheeks. 

Stiles had never seen a black hole implode, he'd never witnessed the death of a star or two comets colliding but he sure as hell saw something that reminded him of nebulas and distant planets and Saturn’s rings when strong hands wrapped around his thighs and Derek bit down on the skin just shy of his hips. 

Derek stole the breath right of his lungs, the wit right out of his words, left his mouth dry and knees crumbling.

"Der-" Stiles sobbed- god, fucking embarrassing- with his eyes screwed shut and his feet shifting against the floor, "please, touch, just-"

He could feel every press; every soft prod and circular little flick Derek did with the tip of his tongue. Lean legs almost toppled out from underneath him and Stiles might have fallen when Derek finally reached around and wrapped his hand around Stiles' cock if it weren't for his other arm secured around his left leg.

Stiles' fingers threaded through Derek's hair when he reached back and gripped, hips rolling backwards into the warmth of a familiar mouth, only to rock forward into a steady grip.

It was so wrong. So wrong. He didn't want to be taken apart, to be opened up like a fucking box of treasures- he just wanted-

Derek hummed and Stiles forgot what he wanted.

No one ever believed in god until twenty seconds before an orgasm, Stiles had read that somewhere, and it wasn't exactly true. But Stiles did believe in Derek Hale twenty seconds before he came, tongue stumbling on the daimon's name like it was constructed out of hot coals and would grant him three fucking wishes.

Derek steadied him when Stiles stepped back and his knees quivered, danced his lips like promises along Stiles' spine, up to the base of his neck.

Stiles wanted to smash the idea of Derek.

Bury whatever was nestling itself into the pit of his stomach somewhere deep in the woods and leave it to fester under pine needles and rain.

He was trying to catch his breath when two large hands turned him and Stiles watched Derek from under his lashes.

Fuck Derek Hale.

Fuck the angel he found in the woods.

Fuck the ghost who had fingertips that made Stiles think of home and a mouth that reminded him of what it used to be like to pray for sins just so he was free to repeat them again. 

Fuck the daimon who was suddenly propelled into this life. Into Stiles' life.

Fuck Derek Hale for finding Stiles.

\--

They didn't speak on the way to Stiles' house.

They didn't speak when they walked inside.

Nothing was said.

Not a damn thing.

Not until Derek pressed his nose just under Stiles' chin as they laid in his bed.

It was eleven thirty-four.

"Do you give a shit about what I am?"

Stiles wanted to say yes.

"No," he breathed instead.

Deep green eyes hid in the hollow of Stiles' throat, "Thank you."

Stiles closed his eyes and listened to Derek breathe.

\--

When Stiles woke up he didn't have the over-whelming need to flee, he didn't be as careful as he could crawling out from under Derek's arm and he didn't clear his throat to wake the man up. Light started to leak through the blinds on his window and the Sheriff called up a quick 'goodbye' as Stiles stared absently at the ceiling.

Derek's toes curled against his shin.

\--

"Hey, man," Scott tested carefully, "where were you? I didn't see you first period."

Stiles shrugged against the straps of his backpack, "I just over-slept."

He absolutely did not stay in bed with Derek for the sole purpose of staying in bed with Derek.

No. 

Scott looked at Stiles as he opened his locker, "What..." his voice trailed off, "are you going to do?"

There was no answer to give, really. Nothing substantial that could make a difference in the eyes of his best friend.

"Probably study, that fucking chemistry test is gonna kick my ass if-"

"Stiles."

The chill in Scott's voice froze him to the bone.

Deep brown eyes studied him- the same eyes that knew the frustration behind all-night video game binges and late night Mexican food runs. Eyes that had shared in the tears that were shed when Claudia died the summer before high school, eyes that saw right through Stiles no matter how deeply he grew into himself.

“I don’t know how to answer that, buddy,” Stiles tried to smile but it came out all fucked up and broken, “I really don’t.”

Scott’s lips pursed into a thin line.

The bell rang.

Stiles didn’t go to class.

\--

“C’mon, they’re there for a reason, right?” Stiles hissed, gesturing to Derek’s torso, “Try!”

“I’m not a bird,” Derek bit stubbornly; “I can’t fly.”

“You don’t know that!” Stiles heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes as Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

Wings were meant for flight, were they not? 

It was almost March and he was thankful for spring to surface out of the cold that had chewed up Beacon Hill’s and left it frosted, tinged with ice and nightmares from winter. Nightmares of Lydia’s swollen eyes and Aiden’s rough tongue. Ethan’s gentle sighs and Scott’s worried words. 

Stiles was ready for the season of life- as ridiculous as that sounded.

“No,” Derek mumbled when Stiles bounced on his heels and threw his head back to push out another exasperated breath.

“Derek, please!”

“Stiles!” Derek’s teeth clanked together, cheeks all blotched red underneath the coarse hair, “I said no.”

Deep honey eyes shifted to the ground and then to the trees that hovered above them.

He heard them before he saw them. Felt the wind as it pushed past his face before he had the chance to smile.

Derek’s breath soothed across his brow and Stiles didn’t move when he felt the tickle of feathers against his shoulder.

“I don’t want to,” Derek added quietly, “I don’t need to.”

That was true. He didn’t need to. 

Because Stiles was stuck in the age of Hale. He was enriched by green eyes and soft lips- raptured. The intensity of a ghost, the broken, shattered remnants of what he believed was a guardian banished to live a life searching for peace in a world that had charred his bones. 

Stiles didn’t want to admit it.

He wanted to rip it apart.

But the tenderness of Derek’s fingertips tickled under the hem of his shirt and the pout of his mouth left wounds on Stiles’ skin like wine left stains on cream carpet. Wherever the man touched Stiles forgot the part of himself that denied the ability to feel because feeling was all Derek had ever made him do. 

“Stop,” Stiles hissed playfully as he leaned into the touch granted by the ghost from the woods.

It was all long presses of lips, deep sighs and quiet sounds.

It was Derek who had his back pressed against the bark of an old redwood; his neck tilted enough to allow Stiles the pleasure of biting the flesh just below his ear.

Stiles never minded when he put them away, when the wings just seemed to fade when he blinked his eyes. One minute they were there, the next, it was just Derek. The secret he still insisted to keep, with lidded eyes and parted lips watching Stiles like he was some kind of future.

Future.

Stiles was seventeen and future wasn’t a word he had fully accepted.

He did accept the whimper that fumbled down Derek’s chin when he circled his arms around the man’s waist and gripped. 

He accepted the whispered demands- the grind of strong hips and the desperation in every kiss that Derek seared into the cushion of his lips.

They didn’t hear the sound of tennis shoes crunching through the fallen leaves.

Didn’t notice the hitch of breath, the gasp.

Not until Derek opened his eyes and peered over Stiles’ shoulder to catch a glimpse of red hair and black yoga pants. 

“What?” Stiles tried to nip at Derek’s jaw but the man’s hand pawed him away as he swallowed dryly and jutted his chin towards the girl who was swaying on her feet. Lips parted. Eyes wide. 

The recognition was apparent.

The shock was a blessing.

Because as soon as Stiles turned he was bolting towards her, clutching her by the arms and rambling at her far too quickly for anyone to understand. His jeans were unbuttoned, flannel askew and hardly hanging on to his shoulders, but Stiles just tried to breathe and stared at Lydia. Stared at her like he had stared at her for so many years.

Begging. Pleading.

“Lydia, listen to me, you can’t… Do you understand, you can’t say anything, I know this is weird and I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. If it was the cheating. The lying. The faking. Or for Derek Hale- for the man she had gone to a candle lit vigil for during middle school. The man whose face she saw on the news and in the paper. The man who died in that fire all those years ago.

“Please, please, Lydia,” Stiles was shaking, clutching her arms so tight that she flinched, “promise me, you have to promise. I know that I- god, I fucking know, okay? I get it, and I’m so fucking sorry but-“

The sound of her palm against the side of his face was so loud a few birds fled from the scene. 

Stiles didn’t run after her when she tripped and turned on her heels, when tears streamed down her face and she growled out a curse at him. A ‘fuck you’ under her breath like it meant anything. The stab of her stiletto heels just between his rib cage.

There was a part of him that wanted so badly to be concerned, to care about what Lydia Martin had just seen, what it would do to her.

But the reality of the situation was that Stiles was concerned about what it would do to him.

To them.

He looked over his shoulder to where Derek was fastening his belt and watching the ground- a look on his face that told Stiles even the dead could feel fear.

It was bound to happen, he told himself again and again.

Someone else was bound to find him.

\--

“What do we do?” Derek asked meekly, sitting in the passenger’s seat of Stiles jeep just outside the Hale house. 

Stiles was looking out the window, studying the way some dead leaves still clung to nearly naked branches. Watched them. The stubborn ones.

When he finally turned to look at Derek the man staring back at him was calm, a soft expression cradled in-between his brows, lips pursed slightly when he sighed through his nose. He tilted his head and Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if this was what life was really fucking like.

If life was the type of bitch that gave you something just to take it away again.

“I wanna go home,” Stiles nodded, “and go to bed.”

Derek arched a brow.

“So… nothing, that’s what we’re going to do?” Derek offered.

Stiles’ teeth were set hard and he looked down into his lap where he was pulling at the skin around his nails.

What the fuck else was he supposed to do?

“Yeah,” Stiles snapped, “nothing is really all I’ve got at this point.” 

It was unsettling how defeated Derek looked.

\--

The way Derek moved against him that night left Stiles a trembling mess. Weak and vulnerable underneath him. He writhed and bucked and arched into the skittering hands that Derek offered- running smooth and hard over his abdomen, grabbing and pulling at his shoulders to lift him up into Derek's lap.

"God, Derek," Stiles hiccupped when the man's name rolled off his tongue, legs hooking around his waist as something of a growl rumbled over the top of Stiles' ear.

There was a moment when Stiles wanted to push him away and run out of his room, when he wanted to go back to fucking who he wanted to fuck and getting himself in trouble with all the wrong people. But as soon as Derek gasped against the lobe of his ear, as soon as he tightened the arm wrapped around Stiles' waist and raked blunt nails down the ladder of his spine- Stiles knew he wasn't going anywhere. He knew it like he knew that everything was about to change.

It was deep and heated and intimate and everything that Stiles had tried to avoid. 

Long lingering presses of their mouths, wet open-mouthed kisses between mumbled demands and soft pleads. Stiles rolled his hips, felt Derek like he'd never felt another human being and wondered if this was what it was to grieve. If mourning was making love with the dead and if the dead could bruise like Derek did when Stiles sank his teeth into his shoulder and left deep marks behind.

Stiles grasped the sides of Derek face, blushed when he heard himself whimper out something of a moan and jerked into the steady hand around his cock until the heat in his spine flooded into his thighs and he trembled against the weight of something far more than just an orgasm.

Derek was watching him, he could feel it, could feel the eyes that reminded him of ferns and vines and forests he was desperate to explore and Stiles didn't give himself time to catch his breath before he pushed the words out like a virus, "Fuck, I love you."

He wanted it to feel fake, to feel like the words were a mistake but as soon as he let them slip from between his lips Stiles felt the gravity of them press down against him.

The truth. What a foreign concept.

Large hands stroked down Stiles' back and warm lips sought out his own in a rough, satiated kiss.

Derek whispered the words back like a prayer against Stiles' throat.

It was strange how comfortable accepting defeat was.

\--

It wasn't what he expected but it should have been because what woke Stiles and Derek in the early morning hours wasn't the sound of his bedroom door behind kicked in, it wasn't the sound of Scott rushing to get them awake or Lydia cursing demands at him.

It was a quiet 'click' of a pistol and the easy in and out of his father's breath as he stood in the frame of the door. 

"Dad-" Stiles tested, easing himself up from the bed with his hands raised, "listen-"

"Why is there a grown man in your bed?" the Sheriff squeezed the question from between his teeth and Stiles felt his hands start to shake.

Was there an answer? A good answer?

He felt Derek shift behind him, fingertips brushing across the waist band of Stiles' boxers as he hid like a timid animal. Like something endangered. Something that needed protection.

The Sheriff didn't put his gun down and he didn't move, just stood with his eyes fixed on his son who nodded slowly, "This is Derek," he managed, "Derek Hale."

"That's impossible," his father snapped but Stiles sighed and shook his head.

"I know, I know it's impossible but just... Put that away, god, Dad!" Stiles bit at the words and shifted back to press against Derek who had his head down, eyes averted to the comforter where Stiles was pushing his hand reassuringly towards him, "Look! Look at him, does he look dangerous-"

"He looks like he slept with my son."

"Oh my fucking-" Stiles huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes, "that's what you're angry about? Holy shit, Dad, put that thing down!"

His father stewed and grumbled, huffed and stomped as he lowered the pistol and pointed with his index finger instead, "Why did Lydia Martin call me frantically yelling about seeing you-" he waved his hand and seethed through a tough sigh, "consorting with an older man that you are convinced is a ghost." 

"He isn't a ghost," Stiles groaned, "he's a fucking-" there was no point, none what-so-ever, "he's Derek Hale and somehow he lived through the fire, okay? That's it. That's all."

"Oh, that's it?" the Sheriff sang sarcastically with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah."

Stiles stilled and the Sheriff almost lifted his gun again when Derek spoke up, "Yeah, that's... that's it," he offered, peeking around Stiles' shoulder as he sat up, "that's the truth."

It was quiet after that. Stiles hated being able to hear himself breathe, hated to feel Derek shift and pull on his jeans as he stood up next to the bed. It was strange how incredibly small the man could look when as he shied away from the Sheriff's gaze. He tucked his hands in front of his waist and clasped his hands together, curled his fingers into the carpet and refused to look up.

It made Stiles' stomach flutter, made his lungs clench bitterly.

The Sheriff studied Derek like an unsolved case. He blinked once. Blinked twice. Swallowed uncomfortably and shook his head. Because it couldn't be true, none of it could be true- except all of it was. Every bit of it. 

"See," Stiles hissed, "you recognize him!"

"Shut up, Stiles," the older Stilinski stared at Derek, stared and stared and stared.

There was nothing he could do after that. He yelled and spit and hissed when his father insisted that Derek come with him, when he told Stiles that they needed to ask him some questions. Because Stiles knew what that meant, he knew that as soon as Derek left there was a good chance he would be taken into custody; he would be forced to re-live everything he had tried to leave behind.

Stiles felt Derek’s fingertips against the top of his hand when he walked around the side of the bed and Stiles tried to fit himself between his father and the man he had found in the woods, tried to bracket himself like a barrier between the two but Derek moved him away with a gentle press of his arm.

The Sheriff took Derek by the arm, didn’t say a thing when Stiles followed them down the stairs and begged his father to at least let him come. To at least let Stiles be there.

“I’m all he has!” the words were sharp and cut through the air around them as he tried to catch his breath. 

But all his father said was ‘stay here’ and all Derek did was glance over his shoulder as they walked out the front door. 

Stiles didn’t expect his knees to his the floor so fast. He didn’t expect it to feel like this.

What the fuck had he done?

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

\--

Lydia didn’t answer his phone calls but that didn’t stop Stiles from leaving message after message. It didn’t stop him from telling her exactly how far she’d pushed him. It didn’t stop him from telling her that he didn’t think it was possible to get any further from her but that after what she did he was certain she wouldn’t even see his shadow in the distance again. Stiles was selfish and angry and he knew that in the end none of this was her fault. But rearing his immaturity in wasn't in his mind at this point in time. 

Scott told him he was sure everything was fine.

His father didn’t answer his phone.

Stiles drove to the station once the sun went down.

\--

“Let me see him,” Stiles was trying to be calm but his voice was rigid, “I just want to see him, to see if he’s alright-“

“They’re doing some blood work,” his father explained, “if it turns out he’s who he says he is, which is impossible then you can see him.”

Stiles smoked a half a pack of cigarettes that night.

\--

Derek Hale ended up on the news four days later.

His picture was spammed all over Beacon Hills and his name was in the mouth of every person who was curious enough to look up the case. They didn’t ask him to make a statement, didn’t pressure him to do much of anything but it was on the fifth day that Derek Hale was pronounced alive, and on the sixth he was granted the insurance from the fire, the rights to the Hale property and to the bank accounts that had been long since closed. 

Stiles waited, impatiently and bitterly until his father admitted defeat and allowed Derek into the house and up the stairs and into Stiles room where they crashed against the closed door like some kind of natural disaster.

There was something about loving a ghost that coaxed life into Stiles and he realized that as the daimon, or the angel, or the ghost, or perhaps just the man that was Derek Hale held on to him like he was made of sunlight and consumed him like he was the second best thing besides oxygen. 

“Der-“ Stiles choked on his name, stumbled backwards until they fell clumsily into his unmade bed, “are you, Derek, are you okay?” 

Because he hadn’t asked.

He didn’t know.

He hadn’t been there.

And the last week had killed him because of it- because Stiles wasn’t used to caring and it had vacuumed the life out of him. 

Derek nodded, he nodded and he opened his eyes and he looked at Stiles like the boy had been born in a star nursery and was forged out of lightening. 

“You’re dad’s nice,” Derek swallowed down a gulp of air and Stiles couldn’t help but bark out a laugh because of course that’s what he had to say. Of course that was his answer.

Their teeth clanked, lips bruised, hands gripped.

“I’m gonna rent an apartment, go back to school, maybe be a deputy,” Derek rambled in the crook of Stiles neck, “I’m gonna take you to dinner.”

The blush that frosted itself across Stiles’ nose was bright and fanned out over the tops of his cheeks, blotched over his chest. 

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, hands running down Derek’s back, “yeah, okay.”

The frantic kissing that the morning had started with melted into long fluid motions, even presses and pulls, soft bites and gentle strokes. It evolved into comfortable familiarity and Stiles sighed between Derek’s lips because this was it. This was future. And this might be home. 

It was terrifying. 

Stiles smiled against Derek’s mouth when he felt the tickle of feathers against his cheek.

Terrifying and electric and wonderful and beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this wasn't even something I was planning to finish so please forgive me for how rushed it seems. I honestly was just playing around with the idea of wing!Derek and all of a sudden this hit me in the face and then completely ran away with itself. 
> 
> I was inspired by [this](http://prettiestcaptain.tumblr.com/post/63731728489/teen-wolf-au-everyone-has-secrets-that-is-a) wonderful gifset on tumblr 
> 
> Also, this is set in a Human AU :3 the fire was of natural causes
> 
> I hope you guys did enjoy it though <3 feedback is always loved and appreciated.


End file.
